


On the C String

by 2hon5



Series: 2hon5's Voltron Orchestra AU [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Orchestra, Autistic Keith (Voltron), Bisexual Lance (Voltron), Gay Keith (Voltron), Gender-Neutral Pronouns for Pidge | Katie Holt, Hunk (Voltron) Has Anxiety, Insecure Lance (Voltron), Keith & Shiro (Voltron) are Adoptive Siblings, Lance & Pidge | Katie Holt Friendship, Lance (Voltron) Has ADHD, Lance (Voltron) Has Anxiety, Lance (Voltron) is Bad at Feelings, Lesbian Allura (Voltron), M/M, Minor Allura/Pidge | Katie Holt, Nonbinary Pidge | Katie Holt, Oblivious Keith (Voltron), POV Lance (Voltron), Panic Attacks, Pining Lance (Voltron), Space Dad Shiro (Voltron), Tags May Change, The Author Regrets Everything, The Author Regrets Nothing, Trans Lance (Voltron), Trans Pidge | Katie Holt, except hes orchestra dad
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-28
Updated: 2018-07-02
Packaged: 2019-05-14 16:53:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14773484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/2hon5/pseuds/2hon5
Summary: Playing the viola has always calmed Lance down.  But, when he runs into his former classmate Keith, He starts to lose control over his music.  How can Lance cope with losing the one place he could turn to?  And what does Keith have to do with it?Or, alternatively: Allura and Shiro run an exclusive chamber orchestra group with Pidge, Lance, Keith, and Hunk.  Can Keith and Lance figure out their emotions in time or will they doom them all?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of my Voltron Orchestra AU! This is the main long fic, and the rest will follow the same general storyline with a few changes. The others will probably be a bunch of short one-shots because I want to explore this monstrosity that I have created.
> 
> Lance, Pidge, and Keith all play viola because you know I love to project.  
> 

Lance was of strings and bows and rosin. His world was a world of music, lines pushing and pulling and playing with each other; weaving in and out and around. He’d grown up bathed in music, his family always playing. When he remembers his childhood, he remembers music. Different songs tie back to memories, linked to people and places and emotions. A violin concerto would remind him of his brother, pulling his mind back to when he was little and practicing hard in preparation for their next recital. A piano minuet would take him back to the day his pet lizard died and he practiced for hours to stifle his grief. His memories were written on music like books are written on paper. Music was his way to be, and it was always there for him when he needed a place to go to.

  
Lance started playing viola in high school. He had wanted a challenge, and the new clef was a delight to learn, if not frustrating. He was self-taught, learning from books and his string-playing siblings instead of a teacher. He remembers the first day he got the viola he still plays. His mom had obligingly taken him to a music store specializing in string instruments, on the condition that Lance would practice and be self-motivated. He promised he would be and went straight to the viola section in the back of the store. He marveled at the craftsmanship of the instruments, tracing the curves and edges with his eyes. He moved from one viola to the next, noticing how wide the differences in the color of the wood could be. When he came to the last one, he knew that this was it. This was the one he would play. She was darker than the rest, sporting a bluish tint to her wood that differed from the oranges of the others. He reached out with a tentative hand and ran his fingers over her shoulders and fingerboard.

“This is the one I want,” he almost whispered.

  
“Really? You haven’t even heard it yet,” his mom answered, lifting it off its mounting and checking the tag. Lance shook his head. I don’t need to, he thought, but he listened to the shop owner play each of them anyway.

  
He watched, almost in a daze as his mom discussed the payment plan with the store owner. The woman behind the counter put it in its case along with the bow, a shoulder rest, and some rosin. Lance listened with half an ear as she explained how to loosen the bow before putting it away, to never leave it in a car overnight, and blah blah blah. He already knew the basics of string instrument care from his older sister and little brother. He held the case in his hands with care, studying the black canvas stretched taut over the wood underneath. Solid and sturdy. This was an instrument that would accompany him to so many places and let him bring music from sheet to life.

Lance was going into his first year of college now. He was on a full-ride scholarship for viola, and today was the first day of rehearsal. He had come to the music building an hour early, planning on getting some last-minute practice in order to make a good first impression. He wandered the hallways, looking for a practice room and listened to the music spilling out of various doors. A piano played a quick sonata from one door, and further down the hall, lance could hear a brass ensemble. From a small practice room, he heard a flute slowly walking up and down a three-octave scale, and from two large doors came the sound of a symphony warming up.

Lance opened the door to a small room, barely bigger than a broom closet. On one end was a small upright piano that had seen better days and on the ground were cases that looked like they contained French horns. Sheet music for various instruments lay haphazardly stacked in piles on the piano and on the ground. There wasn’t a stand, so Lance pulled out his own and set it up. He set his music up on it and put down his viola case. Kneeling, he undid the zippers and the clasp. He opened the top of the case and paused for a second to look warmly upon his viola.

“Oh, Blue,” Lance whispered as he took it out, “You ready to play some new music?” He fixed his shoulder rest underneath and tightened his bow. He drew it across the strings and Blue’s familiar warm tone answered him, ringing from the instrument. He played two strings at once, twisting the fine tuners and listening with his trained ear until he could hear perfect fifths answering him. Smiling to himself, he arranged the music on his stand and put his hands into position.  
“Let’s see what we’ve got here…”

~~~

Lance burst through the orchestra room door, instrument and music folder in hand. The room was spacious, and arranged in a semi-circle facing toward the conductor were rows of music stands and black chairs. Rows of black chairs full of students. Students who were all staring right at Lance.

He looked around sheepishly. “I uh, I lost track of time…” It was technically true, he had lost track of time. What he failed to mention, though, was how he had fallen asleep on the floor of that tiny practice room, curled around his viola case. When he had startled awake, class had already begun fifteen minutes before.  
The conductor looked at him from underneath orange eyebrows. “Lost track of time, eh? What’s your name?”

Lance stood awkwardly and fidgeted with his music. He didn’t particularly like being called out in front of the whole class like this, especially on the first day. Hell, he had come to the music building an hour early! He supposed it was kinda his fault for falling asleep, though.

“Lance, uh, Lance McClain. Viola.” He held up his case for emphasis.  
The conductor gestured toward the back of the viola section and Lance took his seat at the last stand. Damn, he really wanted to be early and take first stand. He shouldn’t have fallen asleep, but the ground had looked so inviting, and Lance had been soooo tired… Ah, well. They probably have to audition for their concert order, anyway.  
“As I was saying,” the conductor continued, looking back toward the rest of the class, “This year for concert orchestra, you will have the same stand partner for the whole year. Auditions for seating arrangement will be in two weeks, and you will play sections from the music you should have received before the start of the semester.”  
Lance stared into the music folder he had propped up on his stand, still embarrassed from his less than impressive entrance.

“Psst! Nice job McClain!"

Lance looked up from his stand, startled. Eyes framed by large round glasses peeked up at him from over his stand.

“Pidge!” Lance whispered, a smile breaking out over his face. “You really came!”

“Of course I came!” they scoffed, flipping their hair in indignation, “I said I would! I graduated early just to come to this school!”

“Well I’m glad you did!”

“Oh!” Pidge’s eyes started to shine, “You’ll never guess who else is here!”

“Who?”

“Keith”

Lance started, suddenly looking around the classroom. “The Keith? Keith Kogane?”

“The one and only. And look—he still wears the same red jacket that he did in high school!”

Lance finally spotted him, all the way at the front of the viola section. “I didn’t even know he was gonna go here!” Lance felt a familiar irritation welling up at the sight of that dumb red jacket and dumb haircut. It’s like the kid thinks mullets are still fashionable!

“Yeah, apparently his older brother Shiro goes here. He’s two years above us and he plays violin in the higher orchestra. They’re real tight.”

“God, I can’t believe I have to deal with Keith this whole year now!”

“I doubt it. He’ll probably be at the front of the section and you’ll be at the back, so you won’t see each other much.” Pidge’s eyes glinted with mischief.

“Nuh uh! There’s no way I’m letting that—”

“Please don’t talk while I am talking!” The conductor called out, looking right at him and Pidge.

Pidge turned around. “Sorry, Coran!” they said, turning back and winking at Lance when Coran looked away. Lance scowled back.

Lance sat in his seat, struggling to keep still. He tried to pay attention to what Coran was saying, but his eyes kept slipping to that head of black hair sitting four stands in front of him. Dumb Keith Kogane and his dumb hair and his dumb viola and his dumb fingers playing his dumb viola. His dumb hands in his dumb fingerless gloves that Lance hates. Why did he have to be here of all places? Lance had come to Altea University for it’s music program, which people say is the best. Keith hadn’t even wanted to go to college! He had wanted to become a professional violist or something like that, Lance thought.

Lance spent the rest of class trying and failing to not think about Keith, Keith, Keith. They didn’t even get out their instruments today, which is pretty normal for the first day. Coran had probably said some important things about the class, but Lance hadn’t caught any of it. He’d ask Pidge later.

After class ended, Lance approached Coran. He still wanted a great first impression, but maybe he’d have to settle for a less-worse impression. Students filed out around him, carrying their instruments.

“Hey, Coran, right?” Lance said by way of introduction.

“Ah, Mister McClain,” Coran mused, stroking the orange mustache that matched his eyebrows and hair. “Care to explain why you were late? And to the first class, no less.”

“Uh…” Lance realized he hadn’t actually thought of what he was going to say. “I actually was here an hour early. I just… I guess I lost track of time practicing before class.” Technically not a lie.

Coran leaned forward, fixing him with a skeptical look. “Really… Well I suppose that’s as good an excuse as any. Just make sure it doesn’t become a habit or we’ll have trouble on our hands.”

“Uh, yes, sir,” Lance nodded, “Thank you, sir”

Lance turned and walked for the door, meeting Pidge on the way.

“Lance, check this out!” they said excitedly as he approached  
They gestured toward a bulletin board that was put up in the hallway. It was covered in promotional papers for plays and performances and such that were mostly outdated. Lance looked to the small piece of paper haphazardly stapled at the bottom. It advertized a small chamber group. There was a small “Contact Allura or Shiro to audition!” at the bottom along with two phone numbers.

“We should join!” Pidge said, grabbing his sleeve, a glint in their eye.

“I don't know, Pidge,” Lance said, chuckling, “I don't want to waste my time with some group. I’d rather practice or something.”

Pidge looked aghast. “This wouldn't be just some group! Shiro and Allura are first stand in the symphonic orchestra! Allura is concertmaster for fuck’s sake!” They pulled out their phone. I'm texting them and telling them that we’re both interested.”

“Uuuughghhh, Pidge!” Lance whined, “Do I have to?”

“Yes, you do,” they said, “If you want to get better than Keith, you need experience. This is perfect!” They tapped their phone screen with a flourish. “There! Done. And don't worry, I’ll be there. I’ll see if I can get Hunk to sign up also.”

“Pidge, kiddo, you’re killing me.” Lance ran a hand through his hair and swooned dramatically.

Pidge wrinkled their nose. “Don't call me kiddo. And this’ll be good for you. Oh, and also, Allura is really hot, like, really hot,” Pidge said, looking at him pointedly, “I’ve only seen her once and I almost had a heart attack.”

Lance grinned. “Oh alright, fine. I guess maybe this chamber group could turn out to be okay, after all.”

Pidge snorted. “You’re insufferable, you know that?”

Lance winked at them and struck a pose. “That’s all part of my appeal.”

~~~

As per his promise to Coran, Lance was always on time to orchestra. Well, almost always on time. Well, sometimes he was pushing it a little, coming in a few minutes after the actual start time, hurriedly unpacking his instrument and slipping into the nearest empty seat. It was easier being at the back anyway, because Keith was always at the very front. How annoying. It’s like he was trying to one-up Lance at every rehearsal, always ready with his instrument in his gloved hands before class even starts. God how Lance hates him. Hates him and his beautiful red and orange instrument with stripes down the back that would put a tiger to shame. Hates his dumb hair and how he always pulls it up into a ponytail before playing, exposing his neck and his goddamn jawline. Why’d he have to look like that, anyway? And don't even get Lance started on his hands. He absolutely hated his hands and the dumb emo fingerless gloves he always wore when he played and he hated how Keith would sometimes bring his wrist to his face and bite down on the hem of his glove to adjust it. It made Lance… angry. That's it. God.

Orchestra was becoming stressful for Lance. Every rehearsal he spent watching Keith, eye twitching and stomach turning when he did anything. Lance would whisper angrily to Pidge constantly. “God, Pidge, look at him! He's so goddamn annoying!” But Pidge would only give him a look and say, “Lance, he's not even doing anything.”  
Not doing anything my ass, Lance would think, sitting back in his chair and pouting.

This was going to be a long year.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In a shorter chapter, Lance actually interacts with Keith for the first time! Needless to say it goes not very well

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter! I think I'll be updating on Sundays now. As always, I'd love some constructive criticism and please tell me if there are any typos

Lance groaned and ran a hand through his hair. The two weeks were almost up, and Lance wasn't nearly ready for the audition. He wandered the halls of the music building, clutching his viola in its case. He needed to practice his music or else he’d end up in the back of the section and Keith would be at the front. Lance wasn't going to let that happen. He set his music on his stand and pulled his case into his lap. Undoing the zippers and clasp, he lifted the lid and looked at his viola. 

He studied the dark blue of the wood, tracing the lines with his eyes. Pulling it out and attaching the shoulder rest, he lifted it to his shoulder and tilted his head, fitting his chin into the chinrest. He tightened his bow and closed his eyes as he drew the horsehair across the strings, starting at the tip. With his other hand, he tuned the strings. 

Lance always found that playing his viola calmed him down. He played a scale, E flat major. He started, second finger of his left hand down on the lowest string, his bow pulling out deep, resonating notes as he played three notes per bow. His fingers glided over the strings, shifting seamlessly from first position to third, then fifth, and finally to seventh. He hit the top note of the three-octave scale with a flourish, then started back down. Seventh position to fourth, fourth position to first, all on the same string. Low fourth finger for the A flat on the d string and all the way back to low second finger on the c string. Lance actually enjoyed his scales, unlike many musicians. He loved the way they felt, three notes per bow, with emphasis changing for each set. All the way up and then all the way back down.

After a few more scales, Lance looked over to the music he had on his stand. Complex rhythms and harmonies looked back at him, black dots for eyes and long curves for mouths. Hooked bows smiled at him and double-stops tilted their heads. Lance tapped his foot slowly for a measure, then started to play. The rhythms were complex, but going slowly and subdividing in his head, Lance was able to play through the few pieces he had.

He never had particularly liked playing orchestra pieces; the viola part was often boring and always seemed like a second thought to the conductor. He much preferred solos that were written for the viola. Composers who didn't know the instrument were never able to write good viola parts.

Lance smiled wryly as he thought of all the times he’d been asked “Why not play the violin like your sister?” “Viola? What instrument is that?” “Don't you mean the violin?”  
Other people wouldn’t understand what it felt like to play the viola. The warm, rich tone resonating in the body, the orange-colored sounds of the middle strings against the dark brown of the lowest and the bright yellow-blue of the highest. They wouldn't understand the way the viola could play from the chest and how the sound goes through the sternum.

Lance started to wander away from the pieces he was playing, following where the bow was leading him. Low, rich notes giving way to skipping middle notes that bounced all the way to the top. He was so enveloped in his impromptu improv that when the door to the tiny practice room suddenly opened, he startled so bad he dropped his bow and barely avoided dropping his viola. He turned around and saw Keith standing in the doorway.

“Hey, I heard you practicing the viola part and I was wondering—”

“Yo! What the hell man!” Lance interrupted, “You almost made me drop Blue!”

“Oh.” Keith tilted his head. “Sorry, I just wanted to know if you wanted to practice with me. The audition for seating is in a few days.”

Lance scoffed. The nerve of this guy. “Yeah right, Kogane. No way am I gonna practice with you.”

Keith blinked, looking confused and offended. “Jeez, what’s your problem? How do you even know my name?”

Lance paused, confused. Was Keith messing with him? There was no way this asshole really didn't recognize him. It hadn’t been that long since graduation!

“What, do you really not recognize me? It’s Lance. Lance McClain from high school,” he said, picking up his bow from off the carpeted floor and pointing it accusatorily at Keith, “And you’re Keith Kogane, in case you need a reminder of that, too.”

Keith scowled, defensive, “Sorry, I can't recall. Asshole violists weren't on my radar that much.”

Lance gaped in disbelief. Could Keith really have forgotten him? Had he really spent this past week and a half obsessively hating some guy who didn't even remember him?? Heat rushed to his face at this thought.

“Just get the hell out man!” Lance cried, voice higher pitched with embarrassment.

“Whatever! I just wanted to practice!” Keith retorted as he turned on his heel and left, the door closing behind him.

Lance buried his red face in his hands and groaned out loud to himself. God, that was handled horribly. The douchebag didn't even recognize him! The audacity of that guy.

~~~

“And get this!” Lance said excitedly to Pidge, sitting across from them on his kitchen counter, “He said he didn't remember me! I mean, we were basically enemies in high school!”

“Eh.. I don't know, Lance,” Pidge said, picking at the hem of their sweatshirt, “I only remember you being the one to act like that.”

Lance flopped backward, his head hitting the cold surface of the counter. “No, Pi-i-idge!” he whined, covering his face, “Does that mean it was all in my head?”

Pidge shrugged. “Yeah, kinda, man. It’s a kinda cute though, you've got a crush.”

Lance sat up and pressed a hand to his chest, looking scandalized. “It is not a crush. I hate that guy! He’s so goddamn annoying.”

“Well, what exactly do you find annoying about him?”

Lance rolled his eyes. “Literally everything, Pidge. Everything he does is annoying! The way he wears that dumb red jacket of his and those awful fingerless gloves! He always bites the hem of them to adjust them instead of using his other hand like any normal person would!” Lance was gesticulating wildly. “And don't even get me started on his hair. God! What nerve! To be just walking around like it’s normal to have hair like that. And then whenever he plays he puts it up in that stupid ponytail! Exposing his stupid neck and jawline like he’s some sort of snack!”

Pidge gave him a suffering look.

“Oh, shut up, Pidge!”

“I didn't even say anything, Lance…”

“Oh, whatever! I can practically hear your therapist voice, all like ‘When people are uncomfortable with their emotions, they often mistake romantic attraction for repulsion or even hate’ and shit like that!”

Pidge raised their hands defensively. “Hey man, I'm not saying anything. This is all you.”

Lance groaned helplessly, lying back down and throwing his arms over his face. “Pi-i-i-i-idge!!” He sighed. “It’s not like it matters anyway. I pissed him off and he probably hates me now! I'm doomed, Pidge. Absolutely doomed. I don't think I could ever face him after I embarrassed myself like that.”

Pidge raised a nonchalant eyebrow at him. “You know,” they said, “You could talk to him and apologize, you know, like a normal person would.”

“No way,” Lance sat up, shaking his head, “I'm just going to do the adult thing and avoid him like the plague for the rest of my life until I die.”

Pidge rolled their eyes. “Whatever, kid. It’s your funeral.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pidge, Lance, and Hunk go to the first rehearsal of the chamber orchestra they tried out for. Lance is excited to be in such an elite group, and with two of the beset musicians in the school. When his fellow violist shows up though, he realizes that this might not be the amazing thing he thought it would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spot the vine reference

Lance awoke to someone shaking him violently.

“Get up, get up!!”

Too loud. Lance pulled his blankets over his head and curled away from the assault. “Pi-idge. It’s Saturday, I don't have class,” he mumbled, curling deeper into his warm, inviting bed.

The shaking did not abate.

“Lance! We have that chamber group today. I reminded you yesterday about it. I tried calling and texting you this morning, but you didn't pick up. Luckily you have no sense of self-preservation and you leave your dorm unlocked at all times.”

Lance groaned. Right, the chamber group. The one Pidge strong armed him into doing. They had auditioned last week, and apparently they had both gotten in. “Oh, Pidge, do I have to?” he whined, batting their arms away.

“Yes, you do. You promised you would. And it'll be good for you. Maybe this way you can actually have a chance at being first stand.”

“No-o-o-o…” Lance said, “It’s too early…”

Pidge stopped for a second, and Lance thought they had given up. Suddenly, though, his blankets were cruelly ripped from his body and he let out an undignified squeak as cold air bit at his skin and he wrapped his arms around his legs in an attempt to stay warm. He was only wearing a baggy T-shirt and boxers.

“Pidge!” he yelled, his voice squeaky with desperation and surprise, “Not nice! Give them back!”

“Nuh-uh, no way. You're coming with me and we’re gonna be on time. Now get your dick on and get dressed, or so help me, I will dump ice-water on you.”

Lance turned to look at them, alarmed. “You wouldn't.”

“Mirame la cara. Does it look like I'm kidding??” Pidge’s eyes were deadly; Lance wouldn't put it past them to kill him if they needed to.

Lance conceded. “Ugh fine, fine! Just get out and let me get dressed!”

“I'm taking your blanket with me,” they said, turning around and dragging Lance’s blanket out of the room, “Be out in ten minutes or I'm coming in with that ice-water!” The door shut soundly behind them.

Lance groaned and stretched out in bed. Why did Pidge always have to make him do things? It was like having another parent. A sarcastic, snarky parent who was also three years younger than him. He sighed a few times, extra loud, making sure that Pidge could hear his dislike. Then, he rolled out of bed and onto the carpeted floor of his dorm room bedroom, letting out an additional sigh.

“Lance, I swear to god!” Pidge shouted from the other side of his door, “If I hear another fucking sigh, you’ll regret it”

Lance smiled. Yup, just like having another parent.

“Language, Pidge!” he yelled back, smirking to himself.

“Oh don't you ‘language’ me!”

Lance was fully awake by now. Swinging his arms forward to give himself momentum, he sat up and looked around his bedroom. His clothes were mainly piled on his floor, looking like sand dunes or snowdrifts. He rooted around for a bit until he found something suitable to wear.

When he came out of his room fifteen minutes and one skincare routine later, he found Pidge already ready to go with both their instruments, music folders, and stands by the front door.

“Hunk’s waiting for us down on the first floor. He didn't want to drag his cello up here.”

“Aight, Pigeon, lezz’ go.”

\---

It takes the three of them a while to find the room they’re supposed to go to in the maze that is the music building, but they find it eventually, and on time. It’s a small room about the size of a standard dining room. In the center are five music stands and one chair. Allura and Shiro stood near the front of the room, arranging the stands and damn, Pidge was right. Allura was stunning. Silver hair contrasting against dark, unblemished skin that rivaled Lance’s own. He made a mental note to ask her what her routine was. 

Lance, having done absolutely zero self-reflection, decided that he did not, in fact, have a crush on Keith like Pidge seemed to think. Knowing this, he thought that Allura would be a good next target. He ran a hand through his hair and started to swagger over to her, readying a few one-liners he knew would work. Just as he was about to open his mouth (and make Allura fall for him, of course), Pidge grabbed him roughly by the forearm and jerked him toward Shiro.

Before Lance could object to his treatment, Pidge muttered, “No way, Lance. Not now.”

Lance shut his mouth. Something about the way Pidge looked at him was off. Pidge smiled and greeted Shiro as they approached. “Hey, Shiro, right? I'm Pidge. Violin and viola. This is Lance. Viola. Over there is Hunk. Cello.”

Shiro smiled warmly and extended his hand, which Pidge took. “I'm Shiro. It’s nice to meet you.” He waved Allura and Hunk over and they all exchanged introductions.

“Okay, so the way this is going to work is this,” Allura said, taking the lead, “In a regular, four-part composition, I will be on first violin. Shirogane will be on second as well as Pidge. Lance will be on viola, and I believe we have one more coming, correct?”

Shiro answered. “Yeah, he’ll be a little late, his theory class is going over.”

“Great.” Allura looked toward Hunk. “Hunk will be our cello.”

“Oh, uh…” Hunk said, looking more than a little nervous, “I’ll be the only one on cello? Couldn’t we get another person to play with me, though? I don't know if I could carry a part by myself…”

“I'm afraid that one cello is all we can handle,” Allura said, “My past experience with two or more in a chamber group has been that the celli overwhelm the rest of the ensemble.”

Lance reached around and swung an arm across Hunk’s shoulders. “Ah, come on Hunk! We all know that you're the best cellist we could have. Adding anyone else would bring the group down!”

“Allura and I chose you for a reason,” Shiro assured him, “We wouldn't have chosen you if we didn't think you could handle the repertoire. That said, you don't have to be a part of this if you feel uncomfortable.”

“Nah, my man Hunk can do this, right buddy?” Lance asked.

“Yeah, don't worry,” Pidge said matter-of-factly to Shiro, “Hunk’s got this.”

Hunk chuckled softly, looking reassured. “I guess I’ll do the best I can”

“That’s my Hunk!” Lance laughed.

“Alright,” Allura said, bringing them back to the topic at hand, “Pidge, you will hold the second violin part on your own during pieces that feature a solo. Shiro will take first. Can you handle that?”

Pidge nodded confidently.

“Well, we might as well get started now,” Shiro said, moving them all toward the semi-circle of stands, “Each part will share a stand since we won't have more than two on a part at the maximum.”

They all moved toward their designated stands. As he passed out sheet music, Shiro explained, “This piece is a Vivaldi and has three movements. Allura will be playing a solo part, so Pidge is on second and I’m on first.”

Everyone shuffled as instruments were taken from cases. Lance adjusted his shoulder rest and looked over as he heard Pidge speak up.

“Whoa. Hey, Shiro, do you mind if I take a look at those mechanics?” They were ogling his prosthetic right arm, which Lance hadn’t noticed until now.

Shiro smiled warmly. “Sure, Pidge.”

Pidge walked over to him, pushing their glasses further up their nose. Shiro demonstrated how the hand disconnected at the wrist, allowing him to reattach one that his bow locked into. Pidge studied the mechanisms that held the bow with a calculated gaze, and Lance could almost see the wheels turning in their head.

He shuffled uncomfortably, inwardly cringing and hoping that Pidge wasn’t being insulting or offensive. Shiro seemed okay with it though, and regarded them with an affectionate look.

“Hm...” Pidge mused, fastening and unfastening Shiro’s bow, “This connection seems a little loose. You know, I’m sure my brother Matt could—”

Lance startled and they all looked up as the door to their room suddenly opened. His eyes widened as he recognized who came through the door.

“Keith??”

Lance gaped. He hardly even heard as Shiro spoke.

“Oh, do you guys know each other?”

Keith scowled at Lance. “Oh, great, you again. Yes, Shiro, I do have the misfortune of knowing this asshole.” He pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose. “Is he really the other viola?”

Lance reddened. “You!— I—” he stuttered, trying and failing to formulate a comeback, “What the hell, dude??”

Shiro gave Keith a disapproving look. “Keith, what’s this all about? Lance will be playing viola alongside you, and I don’t want there to be any conflicts.”

Keith rolled his eyes and scoffed as he walked in and started getting his instrument out. “Yeah, we’ll see about that.”

Lance panicked. Not only would he be stuck in orchestra with Keith, but he had to be in the same chamber group as well? A whole year playing directly beside him?

“Nuh-uh,” Lance said, squaring his shoulders and facing Keith, “No way am I playing with him!”

“Lance!” Pidge hissed, giving him a warning glare. Lance didn’t care.

“What? Why should I have to deal with him? He’s a dick!”

Keith turned and faced him. “Oh, I’m the dick? Well if you don’t want to play with me, the door is right over there.” He gestured with his bow. “You can leave any time you want to.”

Lance stood up straight in Keith’s face. “Nuh-uh. I’m not going to let you just waltz in here and take my place. I’m staying.”

Keith rose to meet his challenge. “Well I'm staying, too.”

They stayed like that, glaring into each other’s faces until Shiro spoke.

“Guys, we can't have any infighting. Chamber orchestras need to be in sync at all times in order to play. Now, I don't want to lose either one of you, so could you guys please figure out whatever this is?”

Lance folded his arms, still facing Keith. He wasn't about to quit an exclusive group just because of one asshole, but it looked like Keith wasn't going to back down.

Keith finally sighed and tossed his hair. “Fine. I’ll be civil as long as he is.”

Lance scowled back. “What? I'm civil.” He ignores the pointed look that Pidge gives him.

Keith looks back at Lance with an equally defiant face.

This was going to be a _long_ year.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short bit of Pidge, Lance, and Hunk interaction because I adore them all together  
> Sorry this is so late, I had finals and then a long road trip/family reunion  
> The working title is "On the C String" right now, though that is subject to change. I'm hesitant to do anything along the lines of "play me like a viola" just because it's super cliche.  
> Spot the Brooklyn nine nine reference!

Lance rubbed his eyes and tried to focus his gaze on the music in front of him.  He had been going at this for almost an hour, and he wasn't making any progress. The audition for seating was the next day, and Lance hadn’t put in nearly as much practice in as he liked.

He put blue down and stood up, stretching his legs ang hoping to reset his brain.  He paced around the small practice room, careful not to step on any of the many french horns strewn about.  He shook himself out, then sat back down, taking a deep breath and tried to stretch the pain out of his ribs and back.

Lance distractedly tugged at the straps of his binder, then set his viola on his shoulder.  He set his left hand and started to bow a simple D major scale. As he shifted to third position however, he overshot his mark and the note went sharp, making his eye twitch.

He relaxed and reset his bow.  No big deal, just need to warm up a bit.  Nevermind that he’d been playing for a while by now.

He tried again, and overshot again.

A third time.  Sharp again.

He took a deep breath, trying to stop the tension he already knew was creeping up his body.  He consciously tried to relax his body, but the nail on his right thumb started to dig in to the leather grip on his bow, leaving small crescent-shaped indents.

He sighed and set Blue in his lap.

“Come on, come on,” he muttered to her, plucking the strings to make sure they were in tune.

Each string was perfectly in tune.

The funny thing about string instruments is that they can tell if you’re upset, and they won’t play for you.  Lance knew this from experience, of course. He could never play well when he was frustrated. It was as if Blue was responding to his negative energy and telling him that she couldn’t work with that.

Lance pulled out his phone and texted Pidge.  They always seemed to know what to do.

 

<pIdgey pidgey pidgeyyyyy

 

>Are you ok?

 

<NO I'M NOT THX 4 ASKING

<it seems that I've lost the ability 2 play the damn viola

 

>You wanna practice with me or just talk?

 

<mmph.  Just talk I guess

<I don't wanna screw up this audition

<I feel like I’m gonna screw up

<it’s not even just today

<I haven't been able to play in a decent way since youknowwhat

 

>Do you mean the chamber rehearsal?

>Is this about Keith?

 

<NO

<NO it’s NOT

 

>Lance…

 

<don’t “””Lance””” me!!!

<it’s not my problem that he’s insufferable!!

<always tryna one-up me

<like he’s some sort of hotshot

<well he’s NOT

 

>Lance, I think you need to talk to him

>I think he's really a nice guy

 

<ok first of all: I feel 100% betrayed

<so thanks

<and second of all: no way am I talking to him!!

 

>I just feel like this is all one big misunderstanding

>You guys could be great friends if you actually interacted in a normal way

>Without you lashing out before he’s even done anything

 

<well maybe I wouldn’t lash out if he weren't the WORST

 

>That's… Not how it works

>You really need to apologize to him if you want to be able to make this work

 

<you're the worst, you know that???

 

>It’s ok, I love you too lance

 

\---

 

“Dang, Lance, how did you manage to get a dorm to yourself as a freshman?” Hunk said as he and Lance stepped into Lance’s room, “I mean-- I love Pidge with all my heart and soul, ok?  It’s just that-- you know, they tend to be a little on the messier side of things?”

“Oh I know, buddy,” Lance said, “Pidge’s rooms are always covered in whatever random project they're doing.”

“You're lucky you don’t have to share, though-- I don't know if I could live alone, I mean, last week, I had to have Pidge kill the spider that I found in the bathroom”

“Yeah, well, the dorm administrators didn't exactly know where to put me," Lance sighed and ran a hand through his hair, “On account of, you know, I'm on hormones but haven't had any, like, surgeries.”

Hunk patted Lance’s shoulder.  “I think PIdge is registered as a boy, which is why we could share.  I don’t think they have transfeminine demigirl dorms at this college.”  He chuckled and Lance gave a wry smile. “Anyway, why did you ask me to come over?”

“Well,” Lance began, “Pidge is officially canceled.  They're dead to me.”

“Oh, boy,” Hunk said, wringing his hands, “Did you find out about how they cannablized your favorite Wii controller so that you’d always lose at Mario Kart?”

“No they told me that-- wait, what?!”  Lance turned on Hunk. “They did _what_ to my controller??  Is that why I’ve not been able to finish rainbow road for the past week?”

“Ohh, noo, you didn't know about that?”  Hunk said, eyes widening, “You know what-- forget I said anything.”  He put his hands up and tried to back away.

“No, wait-- you know what?  I don't even care right now,” Lance said and Hunk relaxed a bit, “You know what they told me?  They said that I should be the one to apologize to Keith!”

Hunk gave Lance a look and didn't say anything.

“Oh, come on, man!” Lance pleaded, “You _can't_ agree with them!”

“You know-- I don't know man,” Hunk said, “I mean-- it's just that that would be the mature and adult thing to do, especially because-- you know-- you're kinda the one who started it.”

Lance draped himself dramatically over the couch.  “Not you, too,” he whined, “Why can't I find anyone who will support me?”

“Lance, I will support you no matter what you do, you know that, right?  I just-- I think that Pidge is right that the best thing for you is to fix this, you know?”  Hunk put a hand on Lance’s shoulder. “Like, the first thing you need to do to get out of a hole is to put down the shovel, right?”

“No,” Lance said, sitting up, “The only way out of this hole is to keep on digging.”

“That’s… not how holes work.”

“Title of your sex tape,” Lance muttered, though his heart wasn't in the joke.

Hunk sat on the floor next to the couch, slinging an arm around Lance’s shoulders.  They sat like that for a while, in silence.

Hunk spoke, breaking the silence.  “Man, I hate seeing you like this. You wanna go and spray some shaving cream into Pidge’s hair?”

Lance smiled slowly and turned his head.  “Yeah. That would be nice.”

 

Pidge, of course, didn't particularly appreciate this method of cheering Lance up, and pursued their assailants until they tackled Hunk to the ground, seizing the bottle of shaving cream and rubbing it furiously into his hair.  Then they turned on Lance, who had paused in his retreat to dramatically fall to his knees and swear to avenge his fallen comrade, and gave him the same treatment.

They ended up a laughing, shaving cream covered mess on Pidge and Hunk’s dorm room floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, criticism is great and being roasted is good for me as a writer!


End file.
